Brad Warner, Dana and Dogen

Dogen: "Earning a living and doing productive work are originally nothing other than free giving."

Brad Warner on Dogen: "Working for a living is ... a means of giving freely of ourselves for the sake of others."

Sei-in on Brad on Dogen: "Receiving is a means of giving, while giving is a means of receiving."

I have to say that at the last Dana meeting, I was feeling kind of fed up. The VZC didn't actually need any more money right now and I felt it was unreasonable for Eshu to have a Dana meeting and ask for money when we didn't need any money to run the organization. To top it off, I was just getting back from a couple of days in Vancouver, which left me feeling cranky and tired.

So that was my state of mind when I arrived. We all met, shared dinner and the started the form of council. This is a form that I first experienced on the street retreats. I find it an extremely powerful way for a group to come together and collectively process their experience.

We went around the circle a couple of times. On my first turn to talk, I felt cranky (and I think my words were cranky). I was able to share my feelings without judgment and then listened to the others. As the evening progressed, I came back to a place that I have been before - a feeling that there is no giving and no receiving. If I investigate what is happening when I am giving, then I can see that I am also receiving. Similarly if I look into when I am receiving, I can see that I am giving as well.

In the end, Mitra and I were pleased to make another donation to the VZC. I left the evening in a very good mood (a big change from when I arrived).

As Dogen says, which Brad Warner comments on and then I interpret:
"Receiving is a means of giving, while giving is a means of receiving."

The Dream - Why I am a Vegetarian

I used to eat a fair amount of fast food. I would eat at McDonald's at least once a week.

One night, about eight years ago Mitra, baby Darius and I had taken the evening ferry to Vancouver. On the ferry, I had eaten a particularly gross hamburger and later that night, I had "The Dream".

In my dream, I walked into a McDonalds. It was strangely quiet and I was the only customer. This made sense in the dream. I went up to the counter and ordered my usual: a Big Mac, a regular hamburger and a vanilla milkshake.

The server handed me my food. Instead of a usual bag, the server handed me a big black garbage bag (the kind that have a hint of green in the plastic, if you hold it up to the light). The garbage bag was rolled down.

I opened up the bag and looked inside. The bottom of the bag was filled with dirty sawdust - like sawdust that had been thrown on a shop floor to soak up spilt oil. The bag also contained old black dress shoes of many different sizes.

I remember thinking in the dream, "This is odd". Another voice said in my head, "This is always what you have been getting. You just never saw it this way."

I looked closer at the shoes and was struck in horror by the realization that the shoes were mismatched. Remember the image of those huge piles of shoes in Auschwitz? It was as if someone had taken a shovel full of shoes from this massive pile and put these mismatched shoes in my bag. I could feel this whole machine turning away and cranking out my meal.

I awoke in a sweat. I lay there in bed in the early morning and felt the impact of the dream wash over me.

I made many changes in how I eat as a result of that dream. The first change was to stop eating at McDonalds. After many years of eating regularly at McDonalds, I stopped the day after my dream and haven’t eaten there once in the eight years since this dream.

A few months later, I stopped drinking coffee. I was never a big coffee drinker, but I would consistently have a cup of coffee in the morning. I noticed that within a week of not drinking coffee, my stomach stopped hurting in the evening.

About six months later, I stopped eating refined sugar for about four years. I used to eat a lot of sweet food! It was really hard to not eat candy bars, white chocolate and the like, but I did for four years. After we sold the company, I started having some sugar again. Now I eat some refined sugar, but far less than I ever had in the past. I am much more balanced in my consumption of sugar.

Then about a year after I had The Dream, I stopped eating meat. It seemed to me that not eating meat just made sense. It is not that I have any issues with killing my food. I just didn't want to participate in the industrial production of meat anymore. It was like coming full circle back to the original moment of the dream.

I find it interesting that one short dream could change so much in my life. No other dream has had such an impact on my life.


Postscript 1 - Mitra’s Reaction

A funny story...

When I came home and told Mitra that I wasn't going to eat meat any more, she just laughed at me.

"What are you going to eat? All you eat is meat!"

She was right. My diet used to be very unbalanced (lots of meat and carbs, no fruit and veggies). Becoming a vegetarian has meant that I had to eat way more fruit and veggies. After six years of no meat, I have started eating a little meat in the past six months.

It seems to me that I had been so unbalanced in one direction that I needed to go far in the other direction for some time before I could find a healthy balance (lots of fruit and veggies with a little meat once in a while).


Postscript 2 - Keeping It Quiet

When I made the other changes to my diet, I never told anyone. I just wanted to keep them to myself. However, when I stopped eating meat I found it impossible to not mention.

The day after I made the decision, I was at lunch with a business friend. I ordered a veggie pizza and he asked me if I was vegetarian. A week or two later, I was traveling for business in the US. We stopped somewhere to eat dinner and every item on the menu involved meat (even the salads!).

I often attend business lunches and dinners. Every time I do this, I always have ask the server for a vegetarian meal. Not only does this announce to everyone at the table that I am vegetarian, but it invariably means that I am served at a different time than other folks at my table.

I tried being a closet vegetarian, but found it impossible.


Postscript 3 - Part of the Family Story

Darius refuses to ever eat at McDonalds. He happily eats meat, but is adamant that he will never eat at McDonalds because McDonalds is bad.

I once asked him why he has such strong feelings about McDonalds (especially because he has never eaten there). He told me all about my dream in McDonalds. It was an odd moment for me because I had never directly talked to him about my dream. However, he had overheard me tell the story enough times that he could recite it from memory. It was surprising.

I realized in that moment that the story of my dream had become part of the fabric of our family story. The kids know the story by heart and it informs how they live their lives.

"Seeing is Believing" Tour of the Downtown Eastside of Vancouver

I had the opportunity to join a "Seeing is Believing" tour of the downtown East-side of Vancouver on June 30, 2009. “Seeing is Believing” tours started in England and have been very successful at providing a way for people to understand more about life in places like the downtown East-side.

As most folks know, I have previously participated in two street retreats (one in the DTES). I figured that this tour would provide a different view into a world I had briefly experienced previously. On the street retreat, we only used a few services (like for food) and the Seeing is Believing tour gave me the opportunity to learn more about services that I had not experienced.

We started off at the Potluck Café. This is a social enterprise. It is a business which makes meaning in the world through training staff, providing meals to those who need them as well as running a restaurant and providing catering to business functions.

At the restaurant, there was an overview of the tour, the Street to Home foundation and the Potluck Cafe. The information was very well put together and the presentation was very professional.

Next we went to RainCity Housing which provides long-term and transitional housing. We got an overview by the Executive Director. The comment he made that stuck out in my mind was when he said, "Initially we would try to tell people how best they should proceed in their lives. That didn't work. When we realized that each of the people we were working with were experts in their own lives, then we could be much more helpful. These people had survived through some horrible situations and the fact that they are alive is an accomplishment to be proud of. We needed to understand that they are the experts. We are the most helpful when we ask them what they would like to achieve next and work with them to that goal."

We then divided into two groups (depending on whether you had a "1" or a "2" on your name badge). My group went for a tour of the housing first. They showed us a room. It was reasonably clean and very small. There were hotplates in the room and a shared kitchen down the hall.

They explained that their policy was to allow most things to happen as long as it didn't bother other people and it wasn't selling drugs.

Then my group went to chat with some of the folks that were staying in the place. We divided into smaller groups and 3-5 people each chatted with one tenant. My group spoke with an aboriginal man. He had been placed in the foster care system when he was a baby and had spent his entire childhood in that system. He didn't like it. When he was 16, he committed some crime (he didn't say what) and he went to jail. He had just gotten out a few months ago.

He was about the same age as me and he had never been outside of a rigidly structured system (foster care and then prison). It was striking.

Next we went to Covenant House. They provide service to street youth including a drop in centre, addictions counseling and housing. The Executive Director was very eloquent in her comments. For her it all boiled down to providing three things: support, structure and love.

She talked about how important it was to have clear structure for these kids. She was also the only person who mentioned the importance of emotions (in particular, love) in providing services.

After her talk, we once again divided into two groups. My group stayed and broke into smaller groups to chat with folks who work at Covenant House. At our table was a woman who had been working there for several years. One thing that she said really struck me: Every single kid who she has worked with at Covenant House was abused before arriving, regardless of their gender. Sometimes the abuse is recent (for example, "you can have free rent if you…") and sometimes not, but all the kids have been abused.

Next my group went and chatted with some of the kids who had gone through Covenant House. There were four kids who were all on their early twenties. One had turned his life around and was now working at Starbucks. Another had fought with the structure of Covenant House and talked about realizing that the structure was there to help her.

Another kid talked about needing money and working as a stripper to earn cash. Now she was on a path that she preferred.

The one kid who stood out in my mind the most was the oldest one. She was in her mid-twenties. Her mother was a sex worker and she was raised in the foster care system. She said that she had been through twenty six different Elementary schools.

Twenty-six schools!

Assuming that the Elementary school system went to grade 7 when she was attending (unlike now, when it goes to grade 5), then she would have averaged about four different schools a year for seven years!

She was obviously a bright woman, but she talked about how she hadn't been able to learn anything because her schooling had been so broken up. If my memory is correct, she only learned to read after turning eighteen.

She talked about how hard it was to grow up with everyone around you thinking that you would grow up to work in the sex trade.

She talked about how the foster care system paid for her bills until she turned eighteen. She turned eighteen in the middle of the month and the system wouldn't even pay for her last two weeks of rent. She was out on the street. Luckily, several kids said that the folks at Covenant House were good people. She went there and they provide what she needed: support, structure and love. She learned the skills that she needed, finished school and now is hoping to go to university to study to be a teacher.

I was really touched by her story.

The next location was the Coast Mental Health Resource Centre. Once again we had the overview briefing by the ED. We then talked to some residents and finally went on a tour.

What struck me about this final stop was seeing this one guy who looked a lot like one of my friends from university. It wasn't my friend, but he looked so much like him. It reminded me of my connection to everyone there.

Afterwards, the tour group gathered to discuss the experience and provide feedback. A few people commented that they felt the tour had been somewhat sanitized. The organizers agreed with this point. They felt it would be too dangerous to bring such a large group (30
people) to some of the more dangerous locations. However they indicated that they would be happy to arrange a tour with a plain clothes police officer.

Two of us indicated our interest in participating. Subsequently, we arranged confirmed a date with the police officer for late August.

All in all, I am very glad that I had the opportunity to attend the Seeing is Believing tour. The tour validated a lot of impressions I had from my street retreat (such as the importance of emotional connection). It also helped me to learn new things (such as the role of the foster care system in homelessness).

I look forward to seeing where this knowledge will take me.

A Moment of Change

I am standing on a dirt road in Cambodia. It is hot. I feel connected to the sky above my head and to the ground underneath my feet. I feel that I am where I should be, doing what I should be doing.

I have just finished giving out packages of school supplies to lots of children. The kids have gone off to look at what they have received and I am speaking with an old Cambodian woman. We are talking about how the Khmer Rouge killed her husband. She asked if I could give her any money and I have quietly pushed a US twenty dollar bill into her hands. She asks me why I am doing this.

"Because I am a Buddhist." I reply.

At this point, I had been practicing Buddhism for almost exactly 2 years, but that was the first time I told almost anyone that I was Buddhist.

I had just spent 6 months in Southeast Asia visiting a variety of Buddhist countries. I was keeping my head shaved at that time (looking a lot like a Buddhist monk). Folks kept asking me if I was Buddhist. I would side-step the question and just say that, "it was a good way to keep cool."

I didn't want to say that I was Buddhist.

For 18 months previously, I was in Victoria (before we left on the trip) and I didn't mention my involvement in Buddhism to anyone except a few close people.

For 24 months, I was worried about what people would think if I said that I was Buddhist. I was worried that people would think I was flaky. I was worried about how this would change what it was to be Eric. Would this change my identity (both in my own eyes and in the eyes of others)? I was worried that I was pretending and somehow a fake. Perhaps I wasn't as sincere as others? Somehow Buddhism belonged to someone else and I was intruding.

In that moment on the hot dirt road in Cambodia, I acted differently.

In that moment in Cambodia, the most truthful, deepest, honest and authentic answer that I could give to the old Cambodian woman was, "I am giving these things because I am Buddhist."

That was a turning point for me. Since then, I have been very open about my involvement with Buddhism. I had feared that I would find rejection, concern and disagreement. Instead, I have found interest, curiosity and so much more acceptance than I would have thought possible. What a wonderful surprise!

The acceptance started in this important moment with the old woman in Cambodia. When I told her, she nodded. There was no scolding or anger. There was only happiness, warm acceptance and understanding. She replied to me, "Of course you are. I am Buddhist as well."

She held my hands tight, smiled and her eyes beamed. Then she walked with me out of the sun, to sit with a dozen or so mothers and their children. We enjoy fresh coconut milk while the room filled with smiles and laughter.

Names, Names and More Names

I Want A Cool Buddhist Name!

So when I first got involved with Buddhism, I thought it was so cool to have a Buddhist name. What a great thing! To have some cool sounding Japanese name that I could use. I wanted one!


Name? I Don't Want A Buddhist Name!

I practiced with the VZC for a few years and then had the chance to attend my first sesshin. During that sesshin, I had my first clear memories of my abuse as a child. It was a very overwhelming experience. Part way through the sesshin I lost my interest in getting a Buddhist name. I asked myself, "Why would I want that? I feel so f**ked up. I am just going to focus on meditating."


Don't Think About It Too Much...

After another year and a half, I met the requirements for Jukai. I wasn’t working towards this, but it happened anyways. Eshu asked me if I wanted to do the ceremony. The idea rolled around in my head and when Eshu asked for the second time, I said yes.

The night before the ceremony Alizeh was sick all night. I stayed up with her, thinking that if I stayed up, then at least Mitra will have rested and I could get some sleep the next day after the ceremony.

So, the ceremony was very surreal on account of my exhaustion. During the ceremony, I received my Buddhist name. I hadn't really thought too much about the idea of a new name since my first sesshin almost two years earlier. I found when I had the new name, I wanted to use it. I like being called Sei-in.


There Can Be Only One!

However, I liked Sei-in so much that I wanted to get rid of Eric. I wanted to fix on Sei-in. Out with the old and in with the new.

I figures that I would try out my new name and give myself until after my third sesshin to make a decision. I really wanted to go one way or the other.

I did the sesshin in May and was confused when I came back. I wanted a decision about by name. I wanted one name. But that is not what happened for me. It felt like I was forcing it. So, I took some time and space just to let things settle.


Two Names Are Better Than One

I am not sure what I will do in the future, but for now I am using both names almost equally.

In the confusion that comes from using two names I have found the constant reminder that I am both of these names and neither of these names. I am other names too: Dad, Brother, Sweetie...

Without fixing on one name reminds me on a daily basis that I have the freedom to be all of those names and none of them. It is like the saying, “The person with one clock always knows the time, while the person with two clocks is never sure.”

I have found both fear and freedom in doubt.

How Our Family Connected to Buddhism

In 2006, we had the opportunity to pack up our life and travel in Southeast Asia for 6.5 months. When we left in late January, 2006, the kids were all very young. Kiran was only 11 months old, Alizeh was 3.5 and Darius seemed old at 6 years old.

When we left, we left as a family of five people with one person practicing Buddhism. By the time we returned, Buddhism was something we shared as a family.

Each of us came to Buddhism in our own way. My path led to Buddhism before we left. Mitra found her connection through some very strong nuns in Vietnam. In spending time with these nuns, she saw an example of well educated and powerful women practicing Zen (in stark contrast to what she had seen in Thailand).

Alizeh developed a relationship to Buddhism through visiting temples.
She really enjoyed the ritual of the temples. When I took her to a temple, she asked me what we did there. I explained that we respectfully watched what happened while the locals went through their rituals. She challenged me: "Those people are doing something. I want to do something, not just watch them do something!" And so Alizeh learned the local rituals and made offerings at many temples across Southeast Asia.

Darius visited some temples, but didn't connect as much to the form as Alizeh. For him, it just slowly became a more visible backdrop of his life. I would typically put the older two kids to bed. I would read them a story and then sit in the room with them to meditate while they went to sleep. We had a lot less space when we were traveling than we have at home. The result of this was that it pushed my meditation practice to be more visible for the kids. Soon they were asking what I was doing and asking if they could do it too. Seeing his Dad meditate on a daily basis was important in building Darius’ connection to Buddhism.

Now for Kiran, it was different. He was quite young for the whole trip. He was only 1.5 years old when we returned home. By this point, everyone else in the family had found some connection to Buddhism and Buddhism became the water that he was swimming in.

As I write this, it is almost three years after we arrived home from our trip. Buddhism has stayed with our family, while each person has developed a different relationship to it.

I continue practicing with the Victoria Zen Centre. Mitra’s focus has been on getting her Masters’ degree for the past three years. Buddhism and the community stay close to her heart, even if she has had little time to go out to the VZC. Darius likes having a Buddha statue in his room, when he is feeling scared at night. Alizeh leaves letters for Kwan Yin (a female Buddha) behind the Kwan Yin figure in her room. In the morning, she enjoys reading Kwan Yin’s replies. Kiran likes to light incense, meditate and do prostrations. As a family, we enjoy going to the VZC Sangha Sundays and Buddha’s Birthday Celebration each year.

"If he discovers religion, he will become a TV evangelist!"

I grew up in a family without any formal religion. My mother was certainly a spiritual person, but we didn't belong to any religious group. I think that mom was skeptical of any organized religion. Dad wasn't spiritual at all. What spirituality came to us as kids, came from my mom.

So, I wasn't really exposed to any organized religion growing up, even though I was exposed to spirituality. I had only been to 2 church services in my life (not including weddings or funerals) before I started practicing Buddhism.

When I was a kid, my folks took this picture of me in my grandparent’s backyard in California. I am dressed in a corduroy suit (all the rage back then!) with a stern look on my face and my hands clasped in front of me. The photo became a defining part of our family's story. The story went like this: "In this photo, Eric looks like either a preacher or a gangster. We don't want him to be a gangster and if he gets into religion he will be insufferable. He will be like a TV evangelist. So Eric should never get into the mob or organized religion."

This story went on for years. I guess the photo was taken when I was 4 or so and the story was part of our family until I got involved with Buddhism and didn't become a TV evangelist.

Any time I would express interest in religion the story would come out: "well, you know what mom always said about you and religion..."

Fast forward to 2004… by this time, my mother had passed away, Mitra and I were married with 2 kids and I was very involved with the company that I had co-founded, PureEdge. I came home one hot day. I thought that something may be up as soon as my mother-in-law told me that she would look after the kids, while I should go upstairs to chat with Mitra.

I went up to our bedroom and Mitra told me to sit down. I sat down and Mitra told me that she was pregnant with our third child. This was not the plan! We had a boy and a girl. We were done. Or so I thought. The idea of another child scared me.

Mitra and I saw a counselor together who helped us to take a broader perspective on the child. She asked us to think about ourselves in the future and what we would tell ourselves to do now. The answer was clear to me - the future me would tell the present me to have the child. Yes, it would be hard, but it would be worth it. I would live to regret it if we didn't have the child (I have to add that I am very thankful for this advice. It was just what I needed. Also, I am very thankful to have Kiran in my life).

I could clearly see that I wanted to have the child, but I was still scared. In the moments between sleeping and waking, I would feel this horrible fear sitting on my chest.

I went to see a different counselor whom I had seen previously about my mother's death and various work-related stresses. She said that she thought that my fear was not to do with having a third child, but to do with something greater. The pregnancy was just the "straw that broke the camels back".

We talked about how I could figure out what the greater issue was. She mentioned a variety of approaches to figure it out. She mentioned hypnosis and I knew that was what I wanted to try. Further, I wanted to be hypnotized in my painting studio at home (otherwise known as my garage), instead of in her office.

The next Saturday I found myself in my art studio, settled in comfortably on a chair next to my counselor. She led me to relax and go to a safe place within myself. There I was greeted by two visitors - two parts of myself that needed expression. One was a child of me and the other was an older figure. It was kind of like a dream. At one point, this figure put his hands on my shoulders and looked at me. In a voice that you would use to talk to a child who just isn't listening, he said, "Find a teacher." His voice was frustrated as if he had said this to me a thousand times and if I would only listen, I would be so much happier.

I returned to my normal state, guided out of the hypnosis by my counselor. I knew that I needed to find a religious teacher. I felt that while I felt deeply spiritual, I needed to be involved with some group. It occurred to me for the first time that the spiritual struggles that I had were not unique to me. Many other people had gone through these before. I could either re-invent the wheel while repeating the mistakes of others or I could learn from them. I could learn from their mistakes and once I learned their path, I could then forget it.

I felt like my approach to spirituality had been one of forgetting all of the rules to have a direct experience with spirituality. However, I had never learned the rules in the first place, so it was hard to forget them.

I decided to learn the path of an organized religion. The question was which one?

I made two lists in my head. One list was all of the world’s major religions (Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, etc.). The other was a list of things which I felt spiritually spoke to me. It included all sorts of random things including the original Star Wars movies (especially Yoda), the book Siddhartha by Hesse and some obscure sci-fi books. When I stepped back and compared the lists in my head, I quickly saw that 80% of the things that I considered spiritual had a Buddhist theme. This was a big surprise to me, but not to those around me.

Frankly, the fact that I read the book Siddhartha by Herman Hesse almost every year since I was a teenage should have been a clear signal to me, but I had missed it all of those years.

Any ways, I went online and looked to find a good beginners book on Buddhism. I read several reviews and settled on "Buddhism for Dummies". I bought it and read it cover to cover. It was a great book to introduce me to Buddhism.

It was like a door opening for me. The first chapter explained the reasons that Buddhism is a religion and the reasons that it isn't a religion. I found the reasons for it to not be a religion very compelling:

- there is no god(s),
- the main dude (Buddha) said that he was just a person and he wasn't trying to teach a religion, but just a way to me happy
- there is no set of ways in which you have to act, otherwise you will go to hell. There are ways to act, but they are only suggestions and the intent isn't to avoid hell, but just to be happier. So if you want to be happy, then killing people probably isn't going to help.
- if something in Buddhism doesn't work, then don't do it.

The end of the first chapter concluded with the idea that it didn't matter whether or not Buddhism was a religion or not.

The next thing that got me was the description of the first teaching that Buddha gave. He talked about something called The Four Noble Truths. I was completely struck by these as deeply familiar. These were themes which I had been painting over and over again for the previous four years.

As I worked through the book one of the things that it suggested was to try meditating. Regardless of which form of Buddhism you practice, there is always a lot of meditation. So if you don't like meditation, then this path is not for you.

The book described a simple counting breath meditation. I tried it for 15 minutes (which is what was suggested). I found myself far more relaxed afterwards. I had tried many things over the years to relax and nothing had worked as well. Meditation had helped me to relax a lot, in only 15 minutes, didn't involve appointments or other people and was free.

Next, the book suggested that I find a teacher and a community. I went through the phone book and searched online for places to practice Buddhism in Victoria. Eshu from the Victoria Zen Centre answered my email.

Eshu and I got together for a tea. I was very nervous at the thought of meeting a real Zen monk, but I was quickly at ease. Eshu and I became fast friends. I went to listen to Eshu speak and met Ben. He seemed like a pretty good guy and I thought if the community was made up of folks like Ben, then it must be a good group.

In the summer of 2004, about two months after finding out the Mitra was pregnant, I started practicing Buddhism with the Victoria Zen Centre.

A few months later, Eshu, Niki and the kids came over for dinner. In the middle of dinner, Eshu turns to Mitra and says, "Eric is really into Zen. What do you think of that?"

I was immediately worried. I knew that I was enjoying my time with the VZC, but what did Mitra think? In that moment it occurred to me that I didn't know what she thought.

Mitra turned to Eshu and said, "It is great! Eric is so much more relaxed. He is easier with the kids. He is easier with me. He admits when he is wrong so much sooner. It has made a big, positive change in him."

Wow, I thought. I knew that I felt better, but I didn't know that I was acting so differently. I didn't know that Mitra thought it was so positive for me.

That was five years ago now. Buddhism has continued to be a very powerful and positive influence on my life. I am thankful for it, but probably not as grateful as those who would have to interact with me if I wasn't practicing.

My Experiences on the Victoria Street Retreat 2008

Victoria Street Retreat
July 31- Aug 3, 2008

My thanks for support and editing goes to my beautiful wife,
Mitra Remy Jordan

“The power of being out on the streets is that once you are out there for a few days, even though you still think you belong to that world you perceive around you (the middle class world of people who wear clothes like you, have a wallet or a purse, credits cars and a car),
you pretty quickly pick up that world is no longer mirroring affirmation back to you. If anything, you become invisible. It is a powerful experience which people of color, poor people, women in the work place and prisoners have been experiencing for a long time… Your references points about who you are and where you fit in the world dissolve very quickly.”

-Sensei Fleet Maull
http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=Zu_phWPK-1E

CONTENTS

Introduction
Why Do A Street Retreat in Victoria?
Prior to the Retreat
Thursday -- Retreat Day 1
Friday -- Retreat Day 2
Saturday -- Retreat Day 3
Sunday -- Retreat Day 4
Sunday -- After The Retreat
Postscript: Wednesday -- Three Days After the Retreat
Vancouver Downtown Eastside Street Retreat 2007 & Victoria Street Retreat 2008

Introduction

On Thursday, July 31st, 11 people met to participate in a Buddhist retreat on the streets of Victoria. The group was led by Grover Genro Gauntt from the Zen Peacemakers Order based in New York. Genro has led over 25 street retreats in cities all over the world; of these, Victoria is the smallest city. The retreat participants were a diverse group: an equal number of men and women, they varied in age from a high school student to folks in their mid-fifties. Some had meditation experience and some did not. One participant was a full time monk living at a dharma centre. One person was wheelchair bound. Four of us had participated in last year’s street retreat in Vancouver’s downtown eastside

We lived on the street of Victoria for 4 days and 3 nights. We were only allowed to take a few items: the clothes we wore, comfortable, closed shoes (we did lots of walking), 1 piece of photo ID, bus fare home, a small backpack, a rain poncho, a water bottle, glasses (if needed), a blanket and small plastic sheet to sleep on. We left behind all the items that are inherent to our usual identity: clean clothes, watches, jewelry, money, credit cards, contact lenses (no clean place to change them on the streets), and cell phones.

The retreat had a few rules:
Sleep outside and not in shelters
No drugs or alcohol
Stay together as a group or with at least one other person
Always tell the truth -- if asked, talk about being on a street retreat

Each person will have paid a minimum of $400 to attend the retreat. This money has to be raised by asking friends and family to donate to support your participation. Two-thirds of the money raised goes to agencies working with people on the street. In this way the group compensates the shelters and other street services the group used during the retreat. One-third of the funds are provided to Genro’s group to support their activities in New York.

My description of the retreat reflects only my experience and memories. It is a powerful experience for each person on the retreat. I have avoided getting into details about the experience of others.


Why Do A Street Retreat In Victoria?

Last year I had the opportunity to participate in a street retreat in Vancouver’s downtown eastside. I went on this retreat because I was sexually abused as a child. Many of the people living on the streets have suffered childhood abuse. Attending this retreat was a way for me to explore and better understand a path which my life could have taken.

The retreat in Vancouver was very powerful for me. I knew I wanted to try the experience in Victoria, because Victoria is my home. I was born here and have lived here my whole life. I attended South Park Elementary, Cedar Hill Junior High, Esquimalt High and then UVic to get my BFA (painting). I co-founded PureEdge here and sold it to IBM here. My wife, Mitra, and I were married at the Victoria Art Gallery just over 11 years ago. Our three children were all born here and attend various schools. Now, two of my kids are attending the same elementary school which I attended as a child. My sister and father still live here and my mother died here 9 years ago.

My history is etched into Victoria. However, I have never been homeless in Victoria.

At each point in my life, I have seen the city differently. But, I have never had the chance to see the city through the eyes of those living on the streets. What does that city look like? How does my home treat people living on the streets? How can I better connect to people living on the streets of my home?

I struggle to connect with people that I see on the street. I am filled with feelings of shame, discomfort and fear. I wanted to explore these feelings and see where they took me.
Prior to the Retreat

My experience preparing for the retreat this year was similar and different from last year. Like the previous year, I had to raise my donation in order to attend the retreat. I was honored to receive support from many people. People often said, “I believe what you are doing is important. I don’t think I could do it, but I am happy to support you in doing it.”

This year, I also organized the retreat. Much of my activity in this role was similar to organizing any other event. However, something that I found very different about organizing a street retreat was how potential participants would engage. I had several people who talked to me saying that they were really very interested in joining us on the retreat. We would talk and I would send them the follow-up forms and information. Then I wouldn’t hear from them again. In the capacity of organizer, I talked to many people about the retreat and I started to believe that as a society, we struggle with our own feelings around issues of homelessness and poverty. As a result, we are rarely balanced in our responses -- we are either overly positive or overly negative. I have often noticed this kind of over-reaction in my own responses to issues that I struggle with (including this issue) and here it seemed to me that I was witnessing society’s same struggle.

I made a mala again (Buddhist prayer beads). I wrote the name of each person who had donated to my street retreat participation and put them on a string. I had 61 beads, plus one bead for Darius, Alizeh, Kiran, Mitra and other family. Darius was quite upset that I wouldn’t have my cell phone. He felt very cut off and worried. I made him a small mala as well. When I got back from the retreat, he told me that he had hardly ever taken off his mala and had even slept with it own. He had kept me close to his heart.

Five days prior to the retreat, we stopped washing our hair and shaving.

Genro arrived in town two days before the retreat started. That evening, he joined the Victoria Zen Centre meditation group at UVic. There were about 35 people in attendance. We followed the usual order of events -- three 15 minutes sessions of meditation followed by a discussion with Genro about street retreats.

Genro described how the street retreats came about. He explained how teachers have always tried to find new ways to teach students to drop their preconceptions and be fully present in the world. Street retreats are one more way of teaching. The first street retreat was conducting by a Christian minister in Chicago. He was teaching a group of students to become ministers and work in some difficult areas of Chicago. They were just about to finish when he said to them, “I have one last assignment for you. Leave all of your belongings here in the church. We will lock them up and I want you to survive on the street for the next few days.” The students left all of the things that help to define their identity and went out into the streets. The first thing they did was go knock on the doors of other churches and explain that they were ministers and ask for food and a warm place to sleep. These churches locked their doors and the ministers learned their first lesson from their street retreat. One of the people influenced by this teaching was Bernie Glassman. Bernie is a Zen monk and was inspired to use this approach to teach his students, including Genro.

The day before the retreat, Genro and I reviewed the materials that I had assembled for the group (consisting of some Buddhist chants, a map, a list of places to eat and a list of religious services). After looking over our possibilities for food, I sent a note to the group suggesting folks to arrive with full stomachs because we didn’t know if we would get dinner on the first night.

Thursday -- Retreat Day 1

We met at 3 pm at South Park School. I had chosen this location because it was easy to find, close to downtown and surrounded by nice parks where we could sit for our initial meditation, discussions and orientation. I had these ideal visions in my head of sitting in one of the near-by parks with the group meditating as we begun the retreat. However, this was not to be the case! After many weeks of nice weather, it started to get progressively wetter on the days leading up to the retreat. On Thursday morning, I woke up to an overcast day. By the time we met at 3 pm, a steady rain was falling. My hopes for how the retreat would start were quickly dashed. We gathered the group and looked for a dry to place to start and a wheelchair accessible bathroom.

We walked to the Royal BC Museum. We used the washrooms and found a sheltered place on the side of the museum. Once gathered, we did an initial 30 minute meditation and then Genro provided an orientation about the retreat. Genro gave us some helpful tips like remembering to be mindful of what is around us. In a Buddhist context, there is much discussion of being mindful as a path to living a more awakened life. However, on a street retreat mindfulness is a way to remain safe. Genro advised people to ask homeless about the best places to eat and sleep. They are the experts. Also, he reminded us to tell the truth and say we are on a street retreat.

Around 7 pm, we walked into town in a light rain. We first went to the Pandora Centre as our list of food services indicated that they served coffee, food and muffins from 7-9pm. However, they were closed and the doors were locked. We asked a few folks who looked like they might have some suggestions. They did not think there was any place open which would serve us a meal. They were also not optimistic about finding a dry place to sleep where we would not be disturbed by the police.

We walked up to Our Place, hoping for a meal. However, we were greeted by two night watchmen who let us know that Our Place closed at 5pm. We were asked to leave. A few retreat participants didn’t have blankets, but the staff at Our Place didn’t have any to share. We saw a lot of clean and dry cardboard next to a bakery. Last year, I had learned how effective cardboard is for keeping you warm and I wanted to make sure that I had cardboard for all of my nights on the street.

After collecting our cardboard, we walked down to Streetlink. By this time, it was starting to rain more heavily and we checked out a few parkades as potential places to sleep. I had never realized how much security there is around the parkades in Victoria! Not only did we have to find a place for 11 people to sleep out of the rain, but we also had to be out of sight and the spot had to be wheelchair accessible.

We arrived at Streetlink and once again, they had no food. A slightly older woman came up to the counter. She had a thick Australian accent which seemed out of place to me. She said that the food services were all shut at this time of night. She thought we were brave to be doing this a holiday weekend because there are fewer services on weekends and holidays. This was the first time that I realized the resources for the homeless and poor in Victoria varied depending on the day of the week and holidays. This is in stark contrast to Vancouver’s DTES. Last year we did the same retreat over the same holiday long weekend and didn’t notice any difference in the amount of available services.

She also said that it would be difficult to find a place to sleep where the police would not bother us. “It is crazy in Victoria. If people don’t find a place to sleep in a shelter, then they end up getting moved from one place to another all night by the police. It is hard to find a place to sleep outside where you do not get awoken by the police.” After she shared her advice, she found us a few blankets. We promised to return the blankets after the retreat.

Genro then asked me where I suggested that we sleep. It was getting late and the rain was coming down. I thought we could either walk over to the industrial area by Rock Bay to try to find a place to sleep, or walk back towards South Park. I didn’t know the Rock Bay area well and did know that behind South Park School there is a covered bike rack which might work for us. Faced with uncertainty in one direction and a place that would hopefully fit our needs in the other directions, we started walking towards South Park.

We stopped in at the Bay Centre to use the washroom again and some members of the group went to ask various food stalls for some food. I joined one person in the Starbucks. The counter person said she couldn’t give us anything twice before starting to take us seriously. We told her what we were doing and she started asking questions. Once we had talked for a while she said that she would bend the rules for us. Apparently, every night they throw out all of the left over sandwiches. She said if we come back at 10:10pm, she would give us all of the sandwiches that they had.

We arrived at South Park and went behind the school to the bike racks. The space was big enough, even though half of it had flooded. The water had run underneath the roof. Luckily, there was enough room for everyone to cram in on the other side. I looked around the school and there was someone else sleeping under the stairs at the side of the school. We tried not to disturb him.

A few of us went back to Starbucks. They opened the door and passed us two big bags filled with sandwiches, wraps and salads. It was a lot of food. One of the participants asked if she could use the wheelchair accessible washroom, but it became clear we had overstayed our welcome. We offered our heartfelt thanks and left.

We rejoined the group and together we shared the food. Normally, I am a vegetarian. However, I had learned last year to gratefully accept whatever food I was offered during this retreat experience. After eating, we all settled down to sleep. The rain was now really coming down and making quite the sound on the roof above us. It was freezing. I had a blanket and I had cardboard, but I was still really cold. I was sleeping towards the outer-edge and I could feel the occasional drip hitting my face. I slept off and on and woke up feeling very chilled.


Friday -- Retreat Day 2

The next morning, we cleaned up our cardboard and put it out of the way, hoping it would be there when we came back to sleep that night. We walked into town to try our luck at breakfast at the 9-10 Club which serves food from 8-10am. It is located by the side of St. Andrews Church on View Street. The 9-10 Club is located down some narrow stairs in a basement of the church with no wheelchair access. Our companion with the wheelchair had to wait outside while we brought her some food and drink. A few of us kept her company while the rest when in to get some food.

I had a muffin and it was just awful. I sat next to a native woman who looked like she was about my age. She leaned over to me and started sharing her thoughts about everyone in the room.

“That person over there -- him -- yeah, he is my brother.”

I just kind of looked at her. I wasn’t sure if she was making fun of me or not.

“Yeah. He is one of my brothers. Those people over there at that table -- that is the gay table. Yeah, they are all gay. Can’t you just tell?”

They actually seemed like they were regulars at the 9-10 Club. They seemed to be having a good time at that table with a real sense of community. I wished I was sitting over there.

“That guy over there. He says he wants a party and I say that I can give him a party, but he will only need 15 seconds. He is so gay. I can party.”

Pause.

“See that guy over there. He is my dad. Only he doesn’t say that. He doesn’t want anyone to know. You know how it is. And that guy over there. He is my brother too. I have five brothers. They are always around me. They may not want people to know that I am their sister, but they are there to protect me. And my dad over there. He married his aunt, but he didn’t know it, so he is my grandfather too. But he didn’t know it. He is there to protect me, but doesn’t want me to say. He didn’t know about his sister. It was an accident and he didn’t know.”

Another pause.

“You know, I was too good to marry him. After all of those years studying to be a doctor, I was too good to marry him. I am fine and better off without him. I am a sensei too. Did you know how I became a sensei?”

Of course I had no idea and I just muttered something non-committal. I was really wishing I had something to eat other than this awful muffin. Why couldn’t I get some juice? I felt really uncomfortable.

“I became a sensei unconsciously. It just happened. I studied and trained unconsciously and now I am a sensei and a doctor. You see how it is.”

I didn’t see at all, but didn’t say anything. I had no idea how to connect with her. I felt like an impostor. She then just got up and left.

After breakfast, we walked back to the Bay Centre to use the washrooms. I preferred to sit outside along Government Street and so I sat on a small cardboard square while wearing my bright yellow poncho. I thought about how on the last street retreat had tried to give away love while panhandling, instead of asking for money. I decided to sit there and give away smiles. Most people ignored me, but about 10% would return my smile.

A man walked up to me. In a very gruff voice with a New York accent he asked, “Are you homeless?”

I was startled and still tired from the previous night. I didn’t reply right away.

“Are you homeless?” he asked again in an irritated voice.

After a second I responded, “No. I am on a street retreat. We live on the streets for 4 days and 3 nights as part of a spiritual retreat.”

“Well, do you need any money? Do you?”

“Yes.” I responded. I took off my hat and he dropped in two quarters. It was odd that he gave me the money, given he seemed quite gruff and impatient with me.

Last year, I had panhandled twice and I had received a total of 1 used root beer can. Here in Victoria, I had already gotten $.50 and I hadn’t even asked.

A little while later, I saw someone that I knew from my time as a student at UVic. We were never very close friends, but we would always smile at each other. He saw me sitting on the pavement and smiled at me, as he always had. Then he realized what I was doing and a look of shock and horror crossed his face. He quickly looked away and walked rapidly past me.

Finally, we went to Our Place. As I walked off the street into the courtyard, I felt myself tense up. I had heard so much about Our Place, but have never been there. I walked in and it felt like I was back in the downtown eastside. It struck me that this was a culture that I was entering. It was a defined culture with its own dress code, language and code of behavior. I had never thought of it as a culture. I had thought of it as a symptom of other problems in our society. For the first time, I realized that it was a culture which had a right to exist. Who was I to try and “fix” this culture? How would I know how to fix this culture? This was a culture of people living in a way that they both choose and don’t choose, much in the same way that I live in my culture -- both consciously and unconsciously.

I sat in the courtyard at Our Place and talked to one of the volunteers. We talked and I don’t think she believed that I was part of a group on a street retreat. She thought I was living in a fictional world with my wife and three kids waiting for me to come home. I am not used to people thinking I am crazy. Normally people believe me when I talk, but not any more.

Soon, lunch was served. We went up stairs to the dining area. It was a very well laid out place. As you come up the stairs, there is a place to wash and dry your hands (very smart -- something I have not seen anywhere else in Victoria or Vancouver). There was a line for food. The person in front of me was completely inebriated. He was so pleased that he had just bought these $400 leather cowboy boots. He had lost some boots before and he was never going to take these off. As we got our food handed to us (chicken soup and a salmon sandwich with one sad piece of lettuce), he asked for another sandwich. He stood there at a forty-five degree angle asking for another sandwich while his soup ran out all over his plate and soaked his first sandwich. But they would not give him another sandwich.

I sat at a table across from a clean-cut man wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. He told me about how he had found an apartment. He was living at Streetlink, but his 30 days was almost up. He was really happy to have found a place to live. Now he wanted to get a job and join a church. He said he had been in Vancouver in the DTES, but that he had been with the wrong crowd. He moved to Victoria because he needed to change his life. We talked about how change really comes from making a decision to change. I enjoyed his company. Once he was done, he wished me well and we smiled at each other the few other times I saw him during the retreat.

Next, the group went to Beacon Hill Park to take a nap. Everyone was feeling pretty tired from the lack of sleep the night before. The sun was out and it was a nice day. We found a quiet and relatively private area. I lay down and went right to sleep. It seemed like only a moment when someone touched my foot and I jumped up in surprise. I was quite startled! It was time for dinner.
We went back to Our Place, because it would be closed on the weekend. We thought that we could visit Streetlink and Salvation Army over the weekend (little did we know!). We arrived at in time for dinner. I got a plate of rice with a meat sauce and lots of cooked peas. I sat down and thought of something one of the other participants had said. He had talked about coming to terms with his inner street person. Who would I be on the street?

After this, we separated into two groups. One group went to find a candle. Our group tried pan-handling. We spread out, one person per block along Government Street. I ended up at the corner of Government and Yates. I have often seen people pan-handle there, so I thought it might be a good spot. I sat down and once again tried giving away smiles. I didn’t ask anyone for money. A woman came up to me and recognized the mala I was wearing around my wrist.

“Is that a mala? I made 500 of those and gave them away to people on the street last Christmas.”

She had greeting cards for sale and wanted to sell me one. I explained that I was on a street retreat and didn’t have much money.

“Well, you just have to have one, my dear. I am off to India and you don’t have a chance to get another one”

I put my hand into my pocket and took out all the money I had -- about $2.37 -- and held it up to her. “This is all I have.”

She leaned in and took $1. Briefly, I felt quite angry because this was almost half of my money! The feeling soon passed and I chose a card. Her cards were made using Japanese brush work. She complimented me on my meditation posture as she left. It was quite surreal.

A short time later, a man slowed down as he walked by. He looked at me, as if waiting for me to ask for money. I just smiled at him. I think I looked like an idiot, just sitting there smiling. Still walking, he reached into his pocket and threw a $2 coin at me. He almost hit me in the head! I was startled and surprised. I thanked him as he sped away.

After this the full group gathered at Streetlink. We waited there until a group called CART came. They are a Christian group (I can’t recall what the acronym stands for) who have a cart that they move around on Friday nights, giving away stuff. They had underwear, socks, candy and a little food. I got an extra pair of socks and a fortune cookie.

When we got back to South Park, we discovered that someone had taken all of our cardboard. At first, we were worried, but we easily found the cardboard in a large recycling container beside the bike racks. It was pretty easy to open the container enough to reclaim our cardboard. It was cold, but not raining. I had brought some free Gay Pride newspaper from the corner store. I crumpled the newspaper up and filled my clothes with it. It felt odd, but definitely warmer. There was one part on my butt that got really cold. I just couldn’t get really comfortable, lying on cardboard on pavement, with my blanket and using my Acetech backpack as a pillow. I tossed and turned.

In the middle of the night, I heard a woman screaming. At first I thought it was a good scream, but then I heard an edge in the scream. I sat up. One of the others sat up too. We went over to Genro, who was wide awake as well. The three of us went to investigate. We came out to the street and saw a police car, a police van and an ambulance. We couldn’t see what had happened and didn’t want to get to close. The screams had stopped and the cars were getting ready to drive off.



Saturday -- Retreat Day 3

That morning, we went into town to have breakfast at Kirk Hall. Breakfast was run by St. Andrews Church this week. We went right in and sat down in the large hall. Breakfast was french toast, ham, a banana and a small square of cheddar cheese. The cheese looked oddly out of place but it was good and I was hungry.

I sat there enjoying my breakfast when someone sat down at the piano. They started playing beautifully. It was one of the other folks who had come for breakfast. They had finished and now played wonderful music for everyone. I commented on it to the person next to me. He mentioned that there were a few folks who were good at the piano. He pointed out another fellow who later came up and started playing. He was even better than the first guy. The music got me talking to the person next to me, an older person who had been coming to this church’s breakfast for a long time.

“One of the richest churches in the world and they can’t serve us seconds.”

He pointed to a well dressed woman in black, sitting a few tables over surrounded by homeless.

“See her over there? She is one of the wealthiest people in Victoria. She came to Victoria as an immigrant with nothing and now she is wealth. Made it all herself. She is a member of this church and never misses a breakfast. She is really nice.”

One of the volunteers spoke with me as I was getting a cup of tea. She asked how I was doing and where I had slept. I told her I was cold, having slept outside and that I was looking forward to returning to my bed in Oak Bay with my wife and kids. As we talked, I could see her wondering if I was delusional. I talked about the street retreat and after a little bit, she seem to decide that I wasn’t crazy. She took me over and introduced me to the Reverend of the Church. We had a great conversation. He had heard of street retreats before and was interested in potentially participating in one with us sometime.

After breakfast and meditation in the church cemetery next to Island Blue Print on Fort Street, we attended a service at the synagogue downtown. One of the participants was a member of the community. I have never been in a synagogue before and was glad to share the experience.

After service, we decided that instead of getting lunch at 11:30am (Streetlink) or noon (Salvation Army), we would eat the early dinner (3:30 pm.) at Streetlink and the check out the Hot Dog Night at the Mustard Seed Church (at 7:30pm). We arrived at Streetlink at about 3:20pm and all the tickets for the 3:30pm dinner were gone. We also learned that Mustard Seed was not having a Hot Dog Night because of the long weekend - it was looking like no lunch and no dinner for us!

Genro suggested that we try going to the market in Bastion Square to see if we could get any fresh produce. The market was closing, but it was nearby. We hurried over and the folks selling the produce were just finishing up for the day. The person I was with explained our situation and right away they said yes. There wasn’t any hesitation. As they gave us 3 big flats of vegetables, one of the owners started to recognize me. I thanked her for the food and explained that Mitra and I had eaten there many times. It was nice to make the connection after they had already made their decision to be so generous.

After this, the group split up into a few smaller groups to go see if we could get some more food to go with our vegetables. I went off with another group member. She had a very good feeling about a nearby restaurant, but they said that they couldn’t give us any food. They explained that it would break health code regulations and it wasn’t their fault, but they just couldn’t help us. I resisted the temptation to argue.

The next restaurant said no. Our third restaurant was very interested in giving us some food, but the manager was not there. Instead, we got some toothpicks for the group. Toothpicks are a great find when you haven’t brushed your teeth in a few days.

The fourth restaurant that we passed did not look promising. Regardless, we asked and the owner just stopped us in the midst of our pitch and said yes. He brought out some wonderful fresh curry and rice. It was a lovely surprise.

As we made our way back to the main group, we saw someone collecting bottles. He had a shopping cart with an old dog in it. I offered him our bottles. He explained that he was trying to earn enough to sleep in a hostel. He has a friend from high school who owned one of the hostels and she let him shower and sleep there, if he had enough money. I thought there would be lots of bottles in the Bay Centre, but he told me that he couldn’t go in there, looking like he did and with his dog. I told him we would collect bottles for him. He showed me a hiding spot he had in Bastion Square. He asked us to collect the bottles and then hide them there for him.

Two of us went into the Bay Centre with an empty black garbage bag to collect bottles. We started on the ground floor, looking in each trash can. This time, I was sticking my hands into the trash can to collect the bottles and cans. It was really hard to do. I am so programmed to not put my hand into a trash can that I had to remind myself, “these hands have touched worse while changing diapers.”

When we had just about finished the bottom floor, one of the sales clerks came over to us with two empty water bottles. He handed them to us, warning us to be careful not to get caught by security. They were nasty today, he said.

While watching for security, we searched through the trash on the remaining levels. We saw two security guards and followed them from a distance. We could keep them in our view and continue our collecting. By the time we were done, we had a garbage bag full of cans and bottles. We dropped them off in the hideaway and hoped our new friend would get them. Another aside: I saw this same person a few days after the retreat. He said that he had safely found the bottles and he thanked us.

After the group came back together, we headed down to the park by the whale wall to have dinner. This is an area that I have stayed away from because it is not safe. We sat down in the park and were just getting ready to eat when one of our group suggested that we offer our food to folks around us. There was a young man up on the street that we saw looking in an old pizza box for food. We called him down and he joined us.

In total, 6 people joined us. One of them had a guitar and played great music. Some of the tunes were originals and some were from Pearl Jam and Nirvana. A woman in a cowboy hat sat next to him and sang. The one song that really stuck with me was her version of “Polly” by Nirvana. The song is about a woman being held captive and tortured. What makes it really chilling is that the song is from the perspective of the person who has captured her. She changed the lyrics, using her own name instead of Polly. Listening to her great voice sing this haunting song about her torture was really creepy. At the end of this write-up, I have included the lyrics to the song, for those who do not know them.

After I had eaten enough to take the edge off, I went to join the young “pizza box” man. He was sitting a little out of the circle and seemed disconnected. I brought some tomatoes and water to share with him. We started chatting. He was in his early 30s. He had been up at UVic studying Economics and Political Science. Based on how he talked, I didn’t doubt him. He was clearly a smart guy who was quite articulate. He said that he decided living on the street might be a way to learn more than being in university. He had thought he might make a video or write a book about the experience. Now that dream seemed a long way off. He had been on the street for two years. For the first while, he had resisted the constant offering of drugs. He had good times and bad times. However, when one of his bad times got much worse, he discovered crack and had been hooked ever since.

When we arrived back at South Park, our cardboard was where we had left it. Five of us walked back into the city to share a large hot chocolate at McDonalds. That night four of us stuffed our clothes with Gay Pride newspaper. We looked like cartoon superheroes with all of the stuffing. I slept okay that night, but not great.
Sunday -- Retreat Day 4

I woke up early the next morning. I was looking at some painted rocks that my daughter’s kindergarten class had done when someone pulled up to the front of the parking lot, got out of their car, unlocked the gate across the lot, pulled into the lot and finally, got out of his car. I walked up to him and said, “Hi there. It is cold out, eh? Do you work at South Park? My daughter goes to school here.”

In a very guarded voice, he said, “I am with district.”

“I am on a street retreat. We live on the street for 4 days and 3 nights to better understand homelessness. There are 10 more of us sleeping behind the school by the bike racks. I am pretty happy because later today I get to go home to my wife and three kids.”

In a low, deep voice he said, “Well, I am a retired Navy Seal. I have slept on the streets of every god-damn shit-hole on this planet and it is no fun. I hope you have learned that.”

Then he went on to add, “You should know that there is going to be a meeting here this morning. It is a big meeting in about half an hour with lots of principals and teachers. They are not going to like seeing you and your friends. You may be on a street retreat, but they are going to call the police. They’ll get scared so you need to leave now. This is not a threat, it is a warning.”

So I woke Genro, telling him it was time to leave. But once I realized what time and day it was (6:30am on Sunday morning on a holiday long weekend), it seemed unlikely that there was to be any meeting. In any event, we cleaned up our make-shift camp and left the bike rack area cleaner than when we had arrived. When we were about a block away, I saw two police cars drive past us. I really wanted to go back and see if the police had gone to South Park, but everyone was cold, hungry and in search of coffee. We walked through town and there wasn’t much open.

We were standing in front of McDonalds downtown, when a woman walked by. She was in her mid-teens. Her eyes were smeared. She was dressed like a 6 year old in a purple, frilly dress. She had a “My Little Pony” backpack on and was clutching a stuffed “My Little Pony” to her chest. She looked like she was in rough shape and wondering around in a daze. She walked past us a couple of times. One of the women on the retreat approached her to see if we could help, but she said she was fine and just walked on.

We walked over to Centennial Square to use the bathrooms. It was odd watching the security guards and the drug dealers each doing their jobs. I had three different people come up to me to sell me drugs. Genro asked me to look at the list of church services to find one for us to attend and we found First Metropolitan United Church on Balmoral Road. They had an early service (9 am) and their listing said, “All welcome.” We figured that we could put that to the test.

The service had already started when we walked in. They were happy that we were joining them and compared us travelers to the three wise men. We didn’t have time to explain that we were on a spiritual journey. I didn’t know how bad I smelled. In spite of this, the church community welcomed us with open arms. I found the service to be particularly moving. I have only been to a few church services before and I had never enjoyed them. I didn’t want to like them. Having found a door into spirituality through Buddhism, I found a way from that spiritual place to connect to the church like never before. It was a very powerful service that brought tears to my eyes. As I sung the various songs from the hymn books, they resonated so powerfully with my experiences over the past few days. The service reached out to all groups, regardless of race, religion or location. I was very touched.

During the service, there was an older woman sitting next to me. She was dressed in her Sunday best and she reminded me of a younger version of my grandmother. I realized how much I missed my grandmother and how I hadn’t connected with since I had started publicly talking about my sexual abuse. The abuse has divided my family. I have found it so difficult, that I have intentional cut myself off, instead of continually dealing with the division. I was filled with a deep sense of loss sitting in the church. I vowed that I would reconnect with my grandmother, whatever the outcome.Sunday -- After The Retreat

Once the retreat was over, we returned to our homes and cleaned-up. People then came over to my house for a final get together. Mitra set out lots of great food. There was a BBQ and we all had a chance to connect one last time before people left. It was nice to meet the other people in the life of those on the retreat (partners, kids, parents, etc).

Last year, I had showered before coming home. This year I walked straight home. I must have smelled so bad. The kids could barely get close to me and Mitra would only give me a small kiss until I had cleaned up. Darius put on a filter mask before hugging me.

I noticed how much I enjoyed have a choice of food. On the street, I ate what I was given with little choice. In the shelters, you got a plate of food and that is what you ate. It was so nice to have choices again about what I wanted to eat. I found myself having a little bit of lots of different foods. I wasn’t really that hungry; I just so enjoyed having a choice!


Postscript: Wednesday -- Three Days After the Retreat

Since the retreat, I have been downtown a few times. I have seen folks that I met in the food shelters and on the streets. I have enjoyed chatting with each of them. I have felt so much more connected to a part of my home which I previously felt cut-off from.

One experience really struck me. I was on my bike on lower Fisgard Street (just up from Streetlink). I heard a woman sobbing. She was clearly in a lot of pain. I turned around and rode my bike down to her. She was walking past people sitting outside having their coffee and tea who seemed oblivious to her. I stopped to talk with her.

She said, “I just wish people wouldn’t be so mean to me.” She asked for some spare change and I gave her $20. She started crying again and I held her. She sunk into my arms and I held her there on the street, while I felt the eyes of those sitting nearby. Her face was bloody, she was dirty and I held her as she sunk into my arms. When she had stopped crying, she stood back. She thanked me and told me that normally she looked much more beautiful. I smiled at her as she walked off.

I would not have held her before I had participated in a street retreat. I acted differently after the retreat. For me, this is the most important thing. The reason that I attend the street retreats is not to learn or to think differently. The reason that I attend is to deeply look into my emotions and to act differently.


"The essential difference between emotion and reason is that emotion leads to action while reason leads to conclusions."


Vancouver Downtown Eastside Street Retreat 2007 & Victoria Street Retreat 2008

Last year I had the opportunity to participate in a 4 day and 3 night street retreat in the DTES. This year I organized a street retreat for 4 days and 3 nights in Victoria.

Amount of Resources and Availability of Resources
When comparing the downtown eastside (DTES ) in Vancouver with Victoria, there are clearly more resources in the DTES. Obviously, there are far more people to serve in the DTES. To compare, in Victoria the listing of places to eat is 1 page long. In the DTES, the listing is 5 pages long. One of the impacts of this is that there are fewer opportunities to find a place to eat in Victoria and it you miss your chance, you are much less likely to find another place to eat. In Vancouver, if you miss a place, you can just move on to the next food shelter. In Victoria, if you miss a place, then you will probably not get to eat.

In Victoria the resources close much earlier. For example, dinner for non-residents at Streetlink is at 3:30pm. Dinner at 3:30pm in the afternoon? By 5 pm pretty much all of the resources are closed. On the weekends and holidays there are even fewer resources in Victoria. In Vancouver, we held the retreat over the August long weekend and there wasn’t any noticeable difference as a result of the weekend in terms of the availability of food. In Victoria, there was definitely less food.

An interesting comparison is the number of opportunities that we had for meals on the two retreats. Assuming that we had a normal 3 meals a day, there was an opportunity for 8 meals over the course of the 4 days on each retreat (given that we started at 3 pm on the first day and ended at noon on the last day). In the DTES, we were able to eat 8 meals at food shelters. In Victoria, we were only able to eat 4 meals in food shelters.


Blankets
This is another interesting comparison between the DTES and Victoria. In the DTES, we asked at one place for blankets and they gave us 10 blankets. In Victoria, we asked at several places and we only able to collect 6 blankets in total (a few from Our Place and a few from Streetlink).


Sleeping Outside
In the DTES, people sleep outside. It is more accepted and you are not hassled by the police. In Victoria, people should not sleep outside. You are hassled by the police.


Religious Services
In the DTES, all of the places that we ate at provided sermons before our meals. In Victoria, all four of the places that gave us food were churches, but none of them made us sit through a sermon.

My Experiences on the Vancouver Street Retreat 2007

Vancouver Street Retreat
August 2-5, 2007


Dedication
To the Face of Death and the Sound of Children’s Laughter

My thanks for support and editing goes to my beautiful wife, Mitra Remy Jordan

Summary

In August 2007, I participated in the Vancouver Street Retreat. For four days I lived and slept on the streets of Vancouver in the Downtown East Side (DTES) with a group of twelve other people. This is an extension of my Zen practice and was organized by a Buddhist group in Vancouver. I did this retreat because I was sexually abused as a child and I wanted to bear witness to the activities of the street. Not to change things, but just to be there. It was a powerful experience, and difficult to summarize. I found it very intense and moving.

What did I learn on the street? I learned how little I know. Some examples:

1) I thought I would have to panhandle for money to buy food. Luckily that wasn’t the case or I would have probably starved! In the 1.5 hours I spent panhandling, I was only given one used pop can.
2) I thought panhandling was the way most people on the street earned money. I found there are many ways to earn money on the street, of which panhandling is only one, and panhandlers only represent some of the people on the street. I learned panhandling was hard and demeaning work. I can’t imagine doing it unless you desperately need the money. I now feel different when I see someone panhandling.
3) I didn’t think there would be very much food and I expected to go to bed hungry. However, I found a lot of free food in Vancouver. I am not sure about Victoria or any other place, but in Vancouver I was given more food than I ever thought possible. The serving sizes were large enough that I started only eating two meals a day, otherwise I was too full.
4) I thought the DTES would be more like other parts of Vancouver. I found it so different that it is hard to believe it is part of the same city. Within the DTES there is almost a small town feel. After only a few days of visiting the soup kitchens, I started recognizing some people. I felt if I kept going, I would soon recognize a lot of people.
5) I never thought cardboard was particularly useful. Now I have learned that cardboard is great. It is easy to find and wonderfully comfortable to sit on, and to sleep on (in comparison to other options), because it does a remarkable job of insulating you from the cold ground. I have even heard that it makes a good blanket. I am now a big fan of cardboard.

What follows is an account of my experiences on the street retreat. I have changed the names of people we met on the street and I have avoided describing the experiences of other retreat participants as I can only speak to my own. I do know that, for each of, us, living on the streets was profound.

Introduction

The Vancouver Street Retreat was held over four days (three nights) on the streets of the downtown eastside of Vancouver (DTES). It was organized by Lisa Hill of the Vancouver Shambhala Centre. She brought in Grover Genro Gauntt from New York to lead the retreat. Genro is with the Zen Peacemakers Order. This group first pioneered the idea of the Zen Street Retreat (see Bearing Witness by Bernie Glassman). Genro is one of only three Zen Peacemakers in North America that leads these retreats at this time. Details on the Zen Peacemakers Order are at: http://www.zenpeacemakers.org/about/index.htm


Experiences Prior to the Retreat

You had to donate $350 to participate in the retreat.. However, you could not pay this donation yourself. You had to ask friends and family to donate so that you could attend. All additional amounts that I raised were also donated. The donation goes to street organizations to repay for your use of their services during your time on the street. I was surprised how many people were willing to donate and how much interest there was about the retreat. Many people who donated made specific statements about how they thought “this is important. I am not in a place where I would do this. I am happy to donate and support you doing this.”

About a week before the retreat, we were asked to stop washing our hair. I had read about this before and not thought much about it. It didn’t seem like a big thing. However, by the third day of not washing my hair, I felt dirty. I was surprise by how much this little thing impacted me. It was around this time that I started to think this whole retreat idea was crazy. I also began to realize that the act of collecting my donation (from about 50 people) was a good way to ensure I actually went on the street retreat. As the date for the retreat got closer, I got more nervous and scared about what I was undertaking. I wondered if I was insane to consider going.

Two nights before the retreat, I made a necklace of beads (Zen prayer beads known as a mala). On each bead I wrote the name of a person/couple/family/organization who donated to support my participation on the street retreat. I thought that this would be a nice thing to do, but didn’t realize how tangible it would make everyone’s support. Seeing all of these beads in an ever increasing pile struck me. It became a physical reminder of how may people were supporting me. I felt blessed. I read the name on every one of the beads at least once a day while I was on the street. Having this mala was very sustaining for me. I have attached a photo of my mala.

The night before the retreat, I packed my stuff. Then I packed my stuff again. Then I looked at my stuff for the retreat and packed it yet again. On the third time, I could see how little there was (see attached photo). I had a small backpack, a change of socks, a small plastic sheet, my driver’s license, my mala, a sweater, a bright yellow rain poncho, $2.50 in change (bus fare home) and the clothes I was wearing. This wasn’t much stuff. In fact, I actually packed more stuff for after the retreat than I packed for the retreat (see attached photo). Weird, eh?

My nervousness reached its peak on the PCL bus from Victoria to Vancouver the day of the retreat. I thought to myself, “I don’t have to go on the retreat. I could just not do this.” Of course, as soon as I thought about all of the people supporting me, I decided I would rather do the street retreat than tell these supporters that I hadn’t done it. I had sent an email out a few days before the retreat and had received many encouraging responses. On the PCL bus I read all of these responses again. In particular, one that summarized many of them read, “All will be well. Take care of yourself and others. Spread your compassion to others that need it.” I thought of these words often on the retreat.


The Retreat Participants

Thirteen people participated in the retreat, including Genro, the leader, and Lisa, the organizer. On average, most participants were very experienced meditators.. Two of them were in their final stages of being ordained. One of them was leaving shortly for a 6 month retreat in Myanmar (Burma). Many of the participants had previously been on meditation retreats. Of the twelve participants (not including the leader), there were five men and seven women. I had thought (incorrectly) that there might be more men than women, but this was clearly not the case. My expectation about the ages of the participants was also incorrect. I was surprised to see people from their twenties to their fifties.


The Retreat – Day 1 (Thursday)

We all met at 3pm at Strathcona Park (Hawks Ave. and Prior St.) in East Vancouver on the first day of the retreat. Once everyone was gathered, the first thing we did was to sit in a circle in the grass and meditate for about 30 minutes. This helped to settle the group. We all introduced ourselves and Genro discussed some specifics of the retreat. In particular, he explained about security. As we were spending almost all of our time in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside (DTES), we needed to be careful. For those of you not too familiar with the Downtown Eastside (DTES), here is a little introduction from Wikipedia:

“Once the core shopping district in the city, many of the retail shops that flourished through the early 1980s are now long gone. Buildings that are not boarded up have bars on the windows. Overhead doors cover many storefronts at night to protect them from theft and vandalism. Used syringes and condoms on neighborhood sidewalks are not uncommon, however United We Can, a charity organization, offers local people jobs cleaning up the streets each morning. Graffiti is prevalent throughout, and most DTES alleys are regularly used as makeshift toilet facilities. The area is noted for high incidences of poverty, drug addiction, violent crime, and prostitution, as well as an ongoing tradition of community activism.”
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Downtown_Eastside

Genro explained that we needed to always be aware of what was going on around us (in terms of people, but also in terms of used needles). This was an interesting take on the Buddhist practice of staying in the present moment. It was the first time I thought of that practice as not a spiritual practice, but a pragmatic self-defense practice. Next, we were to always be with someone else, not alone. We walked together in a group and occasionally would break into smaller groups. The exception was when we would eat a meal at one of the free food services in the DTES. Then we would spread out (both in line before the meal, during the service that almost always preceded the meal and then during the meal.

After meditation, introductions and the retreat basics, we walked to the heart of the DTES. As a side note, we did a lot of walking. Everywhere we went, we walked. I was glad to have comfortable shoes. We first walked by the Carnegie Community Centre (see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carnegie_Community_Centre). If we ever got split up, then we were to re-group at the Carnegie. From there, we walked to find a place for dinner. We tried a few places and ended up in line outside the Union Gospel Mission (see: http://www.ugm.ca/). We spread out and waited in twos and threes through the line. From where I was sitting, I could see a prostitute about 1.5 blocks away working on the corner. I sat there, watching her and looking at the other people in line. I didn’t know what to do or think. We were there for about 30 minutes (hard to tell as Genro was the only one on the retreat with a watch) and then we all filed in. There were two people at the door, greeting us and counting us. This set-up was pretty common at the places we went. Someone usually greeted/checked you as you went in and someone usually counted you.

We went into a small hall and all sat down. I ended up sitting away from other members of the street retreat. I felt really out of place. I felt nervous about how I looked and thought I really stood out. I didn’t talk to anyone around me. The service on the first evening was run by some young women from South America. They sung songs (some of which were in English). After the songs, one of the women (late 20s, I would guess) got up and talked about bringing Jesus into her life. She talked briefly about her life before, which had involved abuse followed by committing acts of adultery and murder. I had trouble connecting the things that this woman was talking about with the image of who she was now.

Following the sermon, we went into the next room to get dinner. I am a vegetarian and I wondered how this was going to work on the street. I had visions of waiting in line, getting food at places like a cafeteria. As it turned out, none of the places served food like in a cafeteria. The food was always plated ahead of time and handed to you. Everyone would get basically the same thing. There was no choice in what you got.

So, we walked into the next room the Union Gospel Mission and there were filled plates at every seat. We all took the seat we were told to take. My plate was filled with a large piece of liver. There were a few other things on the plate, but mostly it was just liver. I could have given the liver away, but I felt too out of place and didn’t want to draw attention to myself. I was feeling so uncomfortable. But I thought, “Beggars can’t be choosers”, so I will eat the meat. I took my first bite of meat in many years and surprisingly it reminded me of my mother’s home cooking. When I was little, she used to make liver just like the liver I was now eating. She stopped making it as we got older, so it is a taste that I associate only with being young. So here I was, feeling uncomfortable and out of place, eating the first meat I had eaten in years, worried it would make me feel sick, when the taste surprised me by bringing back wonderful and comforting feelings from my childhood. This was the first time on the retreat I thought I was doing the right thing. I felt a little more at home.

After the meal, we all re-grouped outside and walked around the DTES. In particular, we spent some time after dark across the street from the Carnegie chatting with people and watching the world. There was a vivid street life. It had a chaotic feeling that reminded me of the larger cities I visited in South East Asia. Several folks from our group joined a very long line for free fruit and candy. I was still not chatting with anyone outside of our group yet. I was leaning against a wall, trying to take everything in. There was an older guy in front of me. He seemed really out of it and his clothes were a real mess. Then for some reason, he picked up a broom and started sweeping up the garbage on the street. It was surreal.

After that, we walked off to find a place to spend our first night. We walked through a couple of places and finally settled on an area behind the Strathcona Community Centre (which is next to the Strathcona Elementary School). Details at: http://vancouver.ca/parks/cc/strathcona/index.htm. We broke into small groups and found areas on the ground. On the first night, I arranged my bed very much like I would arrange a bed at home. I put my plastic sheet on the ground, used my pack as a pillow and my rain poncho as a blanket. It was quite cold. On other nights, instead of trying to make a bed like I had back home, I was more practical. I focused on arranging my clothes to keep me warm. It was hard to sleep on the first night. I was tired, but anxious. Thoughts raced through my mind: What am I doing here? This is stupid. This was a dumb idea. This is not like living on the street at all. I feel like a tourist behind some glass wall!

The moon was quite bright and I read the name of everyone on my mala in the moonlight. This settled me a bit. A little later I heard someone’s voice say, “There is a bench over there. We can do it there.” I was then stepped on by some guy. I moved and he jumped back several steps exclaiming, “Whoa! There is someone sleeping here!” A woman responded, “That’s okay. We can go over here.” They left my immediate area and I lay there thinking about what happened. That was a prostitute and her john. I had been stepped on by a john and at this very moment, only a few feet away, they are doing their business. At that point, the street retreat didn’t seem behind glass anymore!

At other times that first night, a police car came by. It stopped. Someone got out. I could hear the car radio, but nothing happened. After a time it drove off. Later, other people came to sleep and sit in the same area. One person kept asking, “Is this private? Is this private?”


The Retreat – Day 2 (Friday)

The next morning, we were all up early. I was so pleased to see the sun finally come up and the night to be over. As it turned out, only one person had slept well (ironically, it was not the leader of the retreat). Everyone else had hardly slept at all. Most of us had been cold and anxious. We walked to a spot we thought we could get breakfast. There was no one there, so we walked to the Salvation Army (which was a bit of a walk). We had a nice breakfast there. I was feeling a little more grounded. I saw a man about my age with a boy about the same age as my eldest son. I wondered what it would be like to take my children to eat here. I tried to start a conversation with the woman next to me. Not much luck. One of the people from the Salvation Army came and sat at our table. We had an interesting conversation. He asked what we were doing and his reaction was typical – a street retreat is odd, but generally good. Everyone I talked with seemed to think the idea of a street retreat was weird. However, most thought it was weird, but good. After some general discussion with the fellow from the Salvation Army, he mentioned that he was interested in starting a business where he could employ the people that they work with at the Salvation Army. Finally a conversation where I felt comfortable! We had a good conversation talking about the initial decision making process you would want to go through with such a business. I suggested a book for him to read and left him my email address for follow-up.

After breakfast, we were all pretty tired. So we went to a nearby park to use the public bathroom and rest. It was a nice break. I could hear kids laughing and had started to feel much more at home. I slept. I was a little away from the main group (on a park bench). I didn’t hear the police come by and check on the group. Apparently, someone had called the police thinking that there may have been a mass suicide in the park. One of our group talked to the police and explained what we were doing. The police were happy that we were not dead (!) and left us alone. After our nap, we formed a circle, meditated and then talked in the park. As several of us had been cold the night before, we went to the Salvation Army where we had breakfast and asked for some blankets. They were able to give us 10 blankets for our group and some bread. It was wonderful!

We then walked to a place by Oppenheimer Park where they were handing out free lunches. There was so much food in the lunch! Mine contained two sandwiches, soup, several small yogurts and a 6” round of sponge cake. I ate the soup and figured I would save the rest for later (but I actually ended up giving it away to someone who asked us for food). After lunch we broke into groups of three people each. We could do what we wanted for about an hour and a half. My group decided to walk into town to try panhandling. I have never panhandled before. Luckily, one of our group had done it before and gave us some tips. I ended up on the pedestrian overpass by Waterfront station. I was there for about 30 minutes asking people for spare change. It was really hard. I have never had so many people ignore me. People would see me sitting there and then look off in the other direction as if they had just found something very interesting. Each person did it as if it was unique, but to me it happened over and over again. I would say that only 5% of the people walking by even acknowledged my existence. It was about 4:30pm on Friday and a lot of the passers-by were the kinds of people I would know – office workers, programmers, lawyers, accountants and tourists. Here were people that I would normally have connected with, and they were ignoring me.

One guy walked by me and exclaimed loudly, “Just what we need, panhandlers!” He kept walking slowly past me. I just watched him go, unsure what to do. When he was some distance from me, he turned and saw that I was still looking at him. He then raised his hand, smiled at me and gave me the peace sign. What was that? First he criticizes me and then he gives me the peace sign? How does that make sense?

Another guy walked over to me and said, “Here is an empty pop can” and proceeded to give me the only thing that I was successful in getting – one empty pop can. It was embarrassing and humiliating.

We re-grouped at Oppenheimer Park and headed off for dinner. The first place we tried was closed, so we ended up back at the Union Gospel Mission again. As we walked there, we passed a young girl (who could barely walk) going into a van with a man in his 50s. Next, there was a group of people just up the street from the Gospel Mission shooting up. I could see one of them tying his arm and arranging the needle. We waited in line for some time. I ended up chatting with the person next to me for some time. He was an aboriginal who was about my age. He said he had three kids, but was unclear about their location or age. He was unclear about a lot of things, but he was very clear about the best places to get a free meal, free shower and where to sleep outside. He talked at length about free food and where to get it. As it turned out, he had already eaten dinner and was in line to get his second dinner. His advice about breakfast proved to be quite good as we ended up eating breakfast the next morning at the place he suggested (Mission Possible).

When the line finally moved, we all went into the initial hall. On this night, I sat apart from our group again, surrounded by folks. There was a person next to me who looked like he slept outside all of the time. He was quiet and kept to himself. The only thing he said the entire time was one word. He quietly, but forcefully said, “Liar!” about a comment the priest made while giving his sermon. The sermon on the second night was from a preacher whose life had been quite difficult when he had grown up. They had lived in poverty. He recalled having enough money to wrap their small house in black roofing paper and finally being warm. His father had hit him a lot. He had started drinking as an early teenager and became a very heavy drinker. He had been very angry until he had taken Jesus into his life. However, he felt that his life was not nearly as hard as the lives that most of the people in the audience had lived. He asked everyone in the audience who had lost a family member or friend to drugs or alcohol to raise their hand. I would say 75% of the people in the room raised their hand. He explained that many of us had grown up in hell and that he was proud we had made it this far. He was proud that we had survived.

After the sermon, we went into the dining room. I was still full from lunch, so I skipped dinner and went outside to wait for our group. I ate a free banana that Gospel Mission gave me and started to realize that there was more food available to people on the street in Vancouver than I had imagined. The free meals were larger than most of the meals I would normally eat at home. I decided that I would be better off only eating two of these large-sized meals a day, instead of three.

I noticed that there was some nice clean cardboard by the Gospel Mission. I picked some up (which turned out to be a great idea). Once the group reformed we walked back to Oppenheimer Park to meditate. It was quite the scene there. Some crews had been in during the day setting up for a Japanese Festival, know as the Powell Street Festival (see: http://powellstreetfestival.com/index.html). There were tents set-up, but there were no vendors. There were security guards walking around. There were people drinking and doing drugs under the tents. Cars came by with loud music. People were walking and stumbling by. From where I was sitting in our circle, I could see a couple of people lying down, not moving (sleeping? passed out?). One of them was directly in the middle of a path in the middle of the park. We meditated for about 30 minutes again. I sat on the cardboard I had brought from the Gospel Mission (this made a big difference in terms of warmth and comfort) and felt quite grounded. It made sense at the time, but as I write this, it sounds pretty odd.

We then headed out to the Carnegie Community Centre. We had heard that there was a dance, which we wanted to check out. The dance had been canceled due to the strike, but the Carnegie was still open. We used the washrooms, cleaned up, refilled our water and then walked back to Strathcona Park (where we first started the retreat). Strathcona Park has a wonderful community garden. We walk through the garden in the dark, and looked for a place where we could all sleep. There were a fair amount of people sleeping in the park that night, but we did manage to find a place. This time I did not try to make a bed like I had at home. I put my cardboard down (have I mentioned how wonderful cardboard is?). I put on my rain poncho and my extra socks. I tucked my pants into my socks. I wrapped my legs with the blanket that we had gotten at the Salvation Army earlier in the day and then wrapped my plastic sheet around the blanket. This did a great job of keeping in the warmth (as long as I didn’t move too much when I was sleeping and pull it all apart). I then tucked in the poncho around me and folded my backpack in half as a pillow. I was so happy to be warm and comfortable. I was also very tired. However, sleep still took a little while to come. It seemed like there was part of me that just didn’t want to admit that I was here, in a public park in downtown Vancouver trying to sleep. It took a little while for me to get this part of myself to finally let go. Once that tension let go, I fell asleep.


The Retreat – Day 3 (Saturday)

For the most part, everyone woke up much better rested on day three. I decided I liked cardboard so much that I would keep some with me at all times. I ripped a small piece and kept it folded between my back and my backpack.

I was up early. I went out into the park to try and figure out what time it was. I had to be careful where I walked, because there were a many people sleeping around here. I saw an older woman walking along a path. It seemed odd to me that someone on their way to work would walk so close to so many people sleeping outside. It was Saturday morning and I had trouble figuring out the time by the number of cars on the road, so I decided to ask her the time. I went up to her, hoping to not look too strange. I asked her the time and only then did I realize that she had slept outside too. When I was close to her, I could see the dirt on her skirt and top. She spoke with a strong British accent. It was very odd. I hadn’t expected her to have slept outside or to have a British accent. Once again my expectations were wrong.

We walked to a place called Mission Possible for breakfast. We had a good conversation with a fellow in line with us. He explained that when the weather was nice he preferred sleeping on the street to sleeping in a shelter. Someone came by trying to trade a bus ticket for a lighter. At first people listened until someone told him that he was a crackhead and he should leave. People in line then started to complain that if he had enough money to buy a rock, he should have enough to buy a lighter too. Then the conversation turned to how much each person thought they could get for $10.

“I could get a pipe and a rock for $10.”

“Yeah, I could get a pipe, a rock AND a lighter for $10.”

It was an odd game of one-upmanship to watch.

Some other folks in line told some jokes and sang songs. Two folks stood in front of our group. In a mock tone, one of them asked the other, “Do you know where they could get some weed, which is also known as grass or marijuana?” The other explained that, “Surprise surprise, I happened to have some weed right here at a very good price.” Back and forth the two of them went explaining the virtues of their particular drugs, the volume discounts and how anyone would be silly to not buy something from them right then and there. This was obviously done for our benefit and reminded me somewhat of a TV infomercial. Unfortunately for them, even if our group used drugs (in their lives at home), the rules of the retreat forbade drug use

After some time, our line went in for breakfast. This place was very respectful to everyone. There was a short sermon before breakfast about sharing your abundance. It was my favorite of the sermons I heard on the retreat. After the sermon, everyone was served their breakfast. The servers were very careful to always call people at our table “sir”. The mood at our table was very reverent. Utensils were placed in exact positions very carefully. Everyone was very quiet. People watched other people at the table and would pass condiments before you needed them. It reminded me of a formal Zen meal service. Having not had dinner the night before, I really enjoyed my breakfast.

We next walked to Crab Park to meditate and share our experiences with one another. This was quite pleasant. It was ironic sitting on the grass meditating with the Helijet flying overhead (given the number of times I have taken the Helijet to Vancouver). After this we walked by the United We Can Bottle Depot. There is a small park just down the street and they were setting up for a concert and free BBQ. The event was to raise awareness about the safe injection site and to petition for an extension to the permit under which it currently operates (which expires in Dec/08). The area in front of the United We Can Bottle Depot was really crazy. There were people selling all sorts of things (including drugs). It was loud chaos. People were everywhere. Shopping carts were everywhere and everything was overpowered by music from the park. It felt only on the verge of control. After we walked past it, one of the people on the retreat compared it to an apocalyptic scene from a movie. That comparison held for me.

The park was filled with people of all types in all kinds of spaces. There was so much anger and rage. There was also happiness about having a place to express these socially unacceptable feelings. I only felt really threatened once. We stood in small groups in the park a listened to the music (DJ followed by warm-up band). The music was all very heavy, such as Ozzy Osbourne and Metallica. It reminded me a lot of the anger I felt before I understood more about my childhood experience of sexual abuse.

We left the park and walked downtown to the Vancouver Art Gallery. We all broke into groups of two and went off panhandling. This time, I had a plan. My partner and I took cardboard and went into Staples. We explained what we were doing and asked to borrow a pen to write a sign. I had thought about this and wrote two signs. One said “Zen Street Retreat” and the other said “Please Help”. My partner and I then spread out a little on Burrard. This is an area of Vancouver that I know well. Three of the five investors in PureEdge are located in these two blocks. I had successfully raised $35 million in this area and I felt positive about my success panhandling.

So, I put my hat down. I put in my return bus fair, along with a few pennies that I had found on the street, as my “seed money”. I then put out my first sign and started asking. That didn’t work. I then tried taking off my glasses. That didn’t work either. I then switched signs (with my glasses still off). That didn’t work either.

I give a fair amount of change away to people on the street. But I always have a filter that I check people against – are they worthy of me giving them money? I am not entirely conscious of what makes someone “worthy”, but I make judgments about people. If I am honest with myself, I wouldn’t have given me money either. I looked too well feed. I looked too clean (even after a few days on the street). I looked like I should be able to get a job. I didn’t look desperate. So as person after person ignored me, it felt like I was walking by and ignoring myself over and over again. It was painful. I kept seeing myself and all of the people I had ignored on the street. Ouch.

After 30 minutes in that location, my partner and I tried further up the street. He had no luck either. Instead of asking for money, we each tried asking people to buy certain things. I went to the front of a Subway and asked people to contribute to buying a sub. He asked for people to buy him a coffee. Once again, we had no luck.

After some time, we decided to get silly. We decided that instead of asking for money, we would to try to give some money away. We didn’t have much, but we did have an extra quarter. So my partner (who is quite charismatic) tried to give the quarter away. He tried with seven people. He engaged each of them and walked with them on the street trying to give the quarter away. No luck. People looked at him like he had some disease. It was very interesting. By this time, we had met up with a few other people on the retreat. One of them then tried to give away the quarter. She was successful. The person to whom she gave the quarter was suspicious and then thought it was the oddest thing. We could hear him retelling the story again down the block.

Walking back to the DTES, I noticed that there is a real dividing line between the DTES and the rest of Vancouver. I was walking in Vancouver and then walking through a one-block transition and suddenly it was as if I was in a different city. So much seemed to change in the DTES: the ethnic mix is different (more Aboriginals and less Asians), the economies change (instead of buying packs of cigarettes, people buy “singles”), the stores change (I saw my first dollar store that was a grocery store in the DTES) and the look of everything changes (much dirtier). It is quite astonishing seeing so much change in such a short space – only one block.

That evening we walked to the Salvation Army Soup Kitchen. It was the usual drill – stand in line, go in while being checked and counted, wait in a hall and then go into a dining room to have the same dinner as everyone else. One difference was that there was no sermon. Another difference was that I and another retreat participant got into a very interesting conversation with one of the people there. Jim was an aboriginal who had grown up in the residential school system. He had a very difficult time and said that he had been a very angry drunk (his words). It was hard to believe, as he seemed so nice, gentle and soft-spoken. I tried to picture this same person as a drunk, constantly getting into fights. He said that he had almost died and that was when he made the decision to live, instead of die. From that choice, he had started to slowly put his life together.

We chatted while waiting for dinner, then over dinner and finally after dinner at the Carnegie. I mentioned that I had tried panhandling. Jim laughed and said that he would never have tried panhandling. I was surprised. I realized I had always assumed that if you were on the street, you would panhandle. I was wrong. It was possible to be an angry alcoholic living on the streets and not panhandle. The panhandlers that I had seen were not all of the people on the street, but a subset. Jim was planning to watch a movie after dinner. He mentioned that he had just got a DVD player, but that he didn’t like it very much. He found it too hard to use. I didn’t understand what he meant. How hard is a DVD player to use? You just put the movie in and select “play”.

After dinner, while chatting with Jim, one of the other people on the retreat tried suggesting a book that he might be interested in reading. Jim leaned forward and quietly explained he was illiterate. I was stunned. It had never crossed my mind. That explained why he found a DVD player harder to use. You had to navigate the menus by reading. Running into someone who was so well spoken, but was illiterate in Vancouver was really surprising.

On the way out of the soup kitchen, there was a lot of free bread. I mean a lot of bread – piles of bread. There were several kinds of bread. I figured that I would take some for breakfast tomorrow. I took a loaf of nice French bread. It was surprising to see some nice French bread. However, I didn’t see many people taking the French bread. The people around me took the white loafs of bread (looking to me like Wonder Bread). I don’t know, but perhaps they were taking the bread that they were familiar with and I was taking the bread that I was familiar with. I don’t know, but the French bread did make a nice bit of padding in my backpack/pillow that night.

That evening we found a small park (more of a grassy area by some co-op housing) to meditate. We sat and meditated. After our meditation, a police car turned on his siren. The car in front of him then did an illogical thing. Instead of stopping, like I had expected, the car sped up, like in a movie. All of a sudden, we were witnessing a high speed chase. It looked crazy. The car sped off and almost hit two different people on bikes in the first few seconds. Soon both cars were out of our sight and we were all hoping that no one got hurt.

That evening our group divided into two. One group went to watch the fireworks. The other group went back to the public gardens at Strathcona Park to sleep. I was tired and went to sleep. The firework group joined us later in the evening. I slept okay on the third night, but not as well as on the second night.


The Retreat – Day 4 (Sunday)

I woke up early on the last day of the retreat. I felt quite good and at home in my surroundings. Another participant and I went off to collect blackberries for the group. When we came back a few people were up and we assembled our food for an impromptu breakfast. We were soon joined by a woman with a very long name (that I have since forgotten). She was dressed for a night out and came over to join us. She didn’t eat too much, but did seem to enjoy her vodka. She offered to share, but none of us took up her offer. Once again, retreat rules specify no drinking or drugs. Of course it wasn’t even 8am yet, so that might have had something to do with our lack of interest in the vodka. She sat next to me and kept putting her hand on my leg. This didn’t bother me. As I write this, I realize how much I had changed during those few days to have not been uncomfortable. What did bother me was how her hand kept trying to move its way up my leg. I just gently held her hand and moved it back to my knee each time this happened.

After everyone was awake and our guest had moved on her way, we gathered our cardboard and meditated in Strathcona Park before heading off for breakfast. We wandered a bit, hoping to find breakfast, but we didn’t see much. We walked by the United We Can Bottle Depot. It was Sunday morning (perhaps 10am or so). It was much quieter than it had been on Saturday afternoon. However, the scene was still going. For a photo of the United We Can Bottle Depot see: http://www.nowpublic.com/bottle_and_can_depot

The night before, the group that had gone to watch the fireworks collected two big bags of empty bottles. Returning the bottles would give us a little money. Two of us walked down the line-up in front of the bottle depot to see what it was like. The rest of the group stayed back. I was quite uncomfortable walking along the line-up. We came back and reported that it would take some time to return the bottles. The decision was made to wait. Suddenly, I found myself volunteering to wait in the line, while the rest of the group waited. What was I thinking? Walking back to the line, I could see people on the side of the street injecting themselves with needles.

Three of us went to the line and found that there were actually two lines. There was a short line that we were told to stand in and next to us was a longer line. The longer line was really long. Our line had maybe 10 people in front of us. Most had shopping carts filled with used bottles. The long line was composed of shopping cart after shopping cart to the end of the block. Each shopping cart was filled with bags of bottles. There were a lot of empty bottles!

I asked this big guy next to me why there were two lines. He explained that the long line was “one lot” of bottles. He said that, “a crazy man with a plan” had organized the collection of all of these bottles. I asked how many people it had taken and he wasn’t sure. He said that he wasn’t the man with the plan. Who was he? He was a “bottleman”, kind of like a doorman at a bar, except for bottles. Get it? He was security in case someone thought to take some of the bottles. I looked back at this line of shopping carts filled with bottles and noticed that there were several people spread out guarding the bottles. One lot of bottles, with their own security…?

A little later a comment that I had heard earlier came back into my mind. It was mentioned to one of the people on the retreat that you did not have to turn your bottles into cash and then buy drugs. You could just exchange your used bottles directly for drugs. The man with the plan wasn’t so crazy after all. The man who organized this was a drug dealer who had sold drugs directly for bottles and now was exchanging the bottles. This was the kind of person who would put security along their bottles. What had appeared random to me, I now recognized as part of a larger system.

A lot happened in the 30 minutes or so that we waited in line. In addition to my conversation with the “bottleman”, I saw two drug dealers selling their products. One dealer was within an arm’s distance on my left. The other was a little beyond my reach on my right. A little old lady got into a fight about the quality of the rock with the dealer on my left. I could see what he was showing her and she thought it looked too yellow. It looked pretty yellow to me as well, but I don’t know enough to know if that is good or bad. The little old lady then wandered off and then back to buy some drugs from the dealer on my right. This dealer was a young woman. She couldn’t have been very old as she still had the baby-fat of youth. Maybe she was 16-20 years old. She looked in okay condition. The little old lady liked the color of her rocks (clear, from what I could see) and bought some. The dealer tucked the money into her shirt next to her breasts. In between sales, the dealer would kneel down and smoke her drugs.

A woman that I would guess would be in her 30s came and bought some drugs from the female dealer on my right. This customer had clearly been a very beautiful woman at one point. But now, she was drawn and her face was covered in scabs. She looked rough. As the young dealer sold to this customer, I kept thinking to myself, “Can’t you see that if you keep on this path, you will end up like her and then you will die?”

This woman was so close to me, so young and headed on such a short trip. She was so close to me, but so far away. I did not know how to reach out to her. She reminded me of someone in my past that had been close to me, but so far away. When their life fell apart, I couldn’t reach them and they died.

Two people joined the line behind us. They looked at the line, figured it was about a 20 minute wait and thought the best way to kill the time was “to get a rock”. That didn’t take long and soon they were smoking. In acknowledgement that they were doing something illegal in broad daylight, they turned away from the street while they smoked.

After a few minutes, a police car pulled up. A police officer got out of the car and called a woman in line by name. He clearly knew her. She came up to the car and he put handcuffs on her. It was so random. He could have pointed to pretty much anyone there and arrested them for some illegal activity that they were doing at that moment (let alone in the past 24 hours). It seemed so random that the officer would arrest this one woman out of everyone there. He talked to her for a bit. He put a cigarette in her mouth and lit it. She then yelled at someone in line and the cigarette fell out. He picked it up and put it back in her mouth. After they were done, I expected him to put her in the car and drive away. I was surprised when the car drove away and he started to escort her up the street. I then recalled that the police station was only about two blocks away. All of this was happening only a few blocks away from the police station. It was hard to believe.

After a while, we were finally able to go into the bottle depot. We counted out the bottles, which was pretty disgusting. We had 151 bottles in total. We got paid the refund and then returned to the group. After the experience of waiting in line, I was kind of in shock. We went to a spot to buy coffee. I really wanted to wash my hand and went into the bathroom. It was only lit with a black light, which somehow seemed fitting to my mood. I washed my hands several times. Some folks then bought food for our lunch. We walked to Crab Park for our final mediation and talk.


Returning Home

After the retreat was over, I went to a friend’s place to get cleaned up. I had stored my stuff there, so I had a clean change of clothes, my contact lenses, toothbrush, toothpaste and the new Harry Potter book. I washed my hair four times. The first two times, the soap didn’t bubble up like it normally would. It was so nice to be clean again and in new clothes. I originally planned to take the PCL bus back home. But I wanted to get home sooner, to see my family and hear the life in my children’s laughter. Instead of the 3.5 hour trip on the PCL, I decided to spend 35 minutes flying back on the float plan. By 4:45 pm, I was waiting at the float plane terminal, not far from Crab Park. It was so strange to now be accepted in this world that only a few hours ago seemed to reject me. By 5:35pm, I was back in Victoria, meeting Mitra at the plane terminal. It was wonderful to be home. It seemed like I had entered some magical world where everything was clean and sparkled. I felt so fortunate. I still feel fortunate and have trouble connecting the world that I live in day-to-day and the world I experienced briefly living on the street.

After I was home for a few hours, I felt a tension in me release. I hadn’t even realized that I was carrying this tension, but something had been tight for the entire trip and now released. I slept really well that night.